


The World Ahead

by StarSpray



Series: Wisdom of the Evening Star [18]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Second Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-07 19:35:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7727194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarSpray/pseuds/StarSpray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the beginning of a new Age, and now that the world is (relatively) safe, Eluréd and Elurín want to see <i>everything.</i> Starting with the Misty Mountains.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a direct sequel to _Fate is Yours to Choose_.

Night faded slowly, the stars disappearing one by one as the sky lightened from nearly black, to indigo, to grey. Eluréd watched the sun turn the wispy clouds on the horizon gold and pink, and listened to the birds break into chorus all around him, singing a greeting to Anor, and to each other.

Elurín lay curled up in his blankets across the talan, still asleep, his back to Eluréd. They'd spent the day before arguing, on and off, about whether Eluréd was well enough to move from this place. Nellas had already left them; now that the earth's upheaval had ended and the mountain passes seemed safe to travel again, she was eager to visit the new little realms sprouting up in what was left of Ossiriand, and to find her family, if she could. Both Elurín and Eluréd were of a mind to turn their feet eastward, having little interest in what Gil-galad was up to, and even less in taking ship into the West.

Eluréd got up carefully, and jumped lightly from their talan to the nearest tree branch, darting along its length to the great oak's trunk. He patted it in friendly greeting before swinging down to the ground. A few songbirds alighted, chirping angrily at him as he passed, but Eluréd ignored them. It was a beautiful morning, clear and cool and promising, and he wanted to run.

Trees and bushes blurred past him as he stretched his legs, leaping over logs and stones, darting along a stream until it splashed down a small hill into a pool of clear water. There he stopped, and knelt to splash his face with the cool water before drinking deeply. The whole forest was awake, now, the air alive in a great chorus of birdsong, and the breeze lifted his hair from his neck and whispered through the leaves and grass around him.

A nightingale fluttered down to land on a rock beside him. "Hello there, little one," Eluréd murmured. He held out his hand, and with a happy chirp the nightingale hopped onto his palm. "What news do you have for me this morning, then?"

Elurín found him an hour later, as the nightingale finished relating all the latest forest gossip. He sat down as she flew away, and raised an eyebrow at Eluréd. "Anything worth sharing?"

"Not really."

"No travelers nearby?"

"There might be to the north; that nightingale lives to the south."

"Ah."

Eluréd grinned at Elurín. "Why? Were you hoping to meet people today? Or did you want to avoid them."

"I would like to meet and trade," Elurín said. "It's been a while since we've had fresh bread. Or wine. When was the last time we had good wine?"

"Probably at Iarwain's house. I can't remember. I don't think we'll find really good wine anywhere else." The Elven kingdoms in Lindon had only just been established, after all. " _Unless_ there are vineyards somewhere east of here." Perhaps other Men and Elves in the east had perfected the art.

Elurín rolled his eyes. "Let's go see Iarwain, before we turn east. He might have some new ditties to teach us."

"And we can tell anyone else we meet that all his _hey dol merry dol_ doggerel is the best high poetry Gil-galad's court has to offer," Eluréd said.

"Well, at least we've got a plan." Elurín rose and helped Eluréd up. "Better than heading off into the wilds without another thought. Nellas will be so proud."

It took several days to reach Iarwain's house by the lazy little river he called the Withywindle. They found Iarwain not at home, but Eluréd could hear him somewhere singing loudly as he traipsed through the wood. And somewhere downriver, Goldberry was singing to her lily flowers.

"Do you think he's tried courting again?" Eluréd asked as he dropped his pack onto the grass. He flopped down to watch the clouds while Elurín remained standing.

"I don't think we'd hear him singing like that if he had," Elurín pointed out. "He'd be at the bottom of the lily pool."

"Unless he's already been down there, and she's let him go."

But when Iarwain came bounding up the hill, he wasn't even damp. "My young friends!" he exclaimed, face breaking into a grin and a thousand wrinkles. "Welcome and well met! Where have your feet taken you since last we sang together?"

"Up to the Ered Luin," Elurín replied, "but then one of them fell on Eluréd, thus proving his head is indeed harder than stone."

Iarwain laughed long and hard, before ushering them inside for a feast of honey, fruit, and fresh sweet bread—and wine, of course. Eluréd and Elurín learned much of what was happening in Eriador and across the Ered Luin—even more than the Valar's herald had told them, when they met him in the mountains, because Eönwë had not said that Elwing had had children. That, they had learned from other travelers, but such things were always best believed when heard from more than one source.

"Oh aye, the fair Lady Elwing bore twins to Eärendil that they call Blessed," Iarwain told them as they settled down in front of his hearth. He put his stockinged feet up on a footstool and leaned back, blue eyes glinting in the firelight. "One's gone a-sailing away, out across the sea to the Star Isle with his Mariner-Men. But the other's still here—the Elvenking's herald and healer, though there's not much call for heralds, these days."

Elurín raised his eyebrows at Eluréd. "Well, what do you think, brother? Should we go introduce ourselves to our nephew?"

Eluréd shook his head. "Not yet," he said. "They're still trying to find their footing out there in Lindon, aren't they? I think our nephew has enough on his lap without a couple wayward uncles appearing on his doorstep—if he even _has_ a doorstep, yet!"

They stayed a week singing and laughing with Iarwain, before a bluebird brought Elurín news of an Entmoot happening a few leagues south and east, where the Withywindle met the bigger, but no less lazy, river that came south from a lake in the northern hills, and flowed down to the Sea. They'd never seen an Entmoot before, though they'd met several Ents, many years before, when Nellas had brought them as children east and south over the Ered Luin. She'd told them about the great Entmoot she'd witnessed in Neldoreth, and Eluréd thought he could remember hearing it in the distance—like music, sonorous and slow. That had been the autumn before the Kinslayers came.

On their way to the Entmoot, they paused by Goldberry's lily pool, finding her sitting among the rushes combing her hair. "Well met, my Lady Goldberry!" Elurín called from the bank. "Your lilies are beautiful this year!"

"Well met indeed, my young lords!" Goldberry called back. She set aside her comb and started weaving her hair together into intricate braids woven with lily blossoms. "Where are you going in such a hurry? Come sit and sing with me awhile, while the sunshine dances on the water!"

"Perhaps another time, Lady Goldberry," Eluréd said. "There's an Entmoot down the river we wish to see."

"The Ents would call you hasty, and rightly," Goldberry said, though she smiled. "But where is Nellas? She has not come to visit me since before the sky burned and the earth shook itself into new form!"

"She was with us," Eluréd said, "but now she's gone west to see what remains of Ossiriand. But when she returns I think she'll come here to see you."

"Will you tell her we've gone east?" Elurín added.

"Of course. May the stars light your path!" Goldberry called after them as they set off again. "And may you return to sit with me among the lilies with many a tale to tell!"

The game trails by the Withywindle took them swiftly down the river to the place the Ents were meeting. There were Entwives there, too, with apple-red cheeks and sun-bleached hair like pale corn, and swaying among the older Ents were young Entings, pale green as new saplings. Eluréd and Elurín settled in one of the taller oak trees lining the clearing, and watched with interest. The Entish chants were slow and soothing, though the words themselves were incomprehensible to Elven ears.

The moot had just started, though, and as intriguing as the Ents were, Eluréd had no interest in sitting around in a tree for a month or more before they could ask one of the Ents about it. He and Eluréd explored the surrounding woodland, hunting and foraging, and learning the lay of the land.

The Entmoot lasted two months, and when it was over Eluréd and Elurín found the oldest Ent, called Fangorn, whom they'd met many times as children, though it had been some years since they'd last seen him. "Hello, old Fangorn!" Eluréd called as he and Eluréd approached the Ent as he sank his root-like toes into the water of the Withywindle.

"Hmm, hello, young Elves," Fangorn said, turning slowly to blink at them. His eyes were wells of deep green, that reminded Eluréd of all the greens on all the leaves he'd ever seen, falling together in deep well of memory—for Fangorn had seen far more springs and summers than they had. "Ah," Fangorn said, "you are the companions of young Nellas."

"That's right," Elurín said. "I am Elurín, and this is my brother Eluréd. Nellas has gone west of the mountains."

"Can you tell us what the Entmoot was for?" Eluréd asked.

Fangorn hummed a little while before answering, swaying in the breeze as the water flowed over his feet and buffeted his legs. Eluréd sat down on the bank and removed his boots to let his own feet soak a while in the water, cool but not cold. Finally, Fangorn said, "It was a moot to exchange, hmm, news. Who survived the War, and who did not."

"I thought all the Ents came east of the Ered Luin before the War of Wrath began," Elurín said. "Nellas told us of the Entmoot in Neldoreth that decided it."

"Not all the Ents in Beleriand attended that Entmoot. And not all who did attend wished to leave the western woods. Many are drowned now, with the willow meads of Tasarinan, and the mighty beaches of Neldoreth, the pine forests of Dorthonion…" Fangorn sighed, and closed his eyes again. He sang a while, chanting words that Eluréd came to realize were names—names of Ents who had perished, and names of trees he had known in Beleriand. Eluréd and Elurín listened in silence until Fangorn finally fell silent with a heavy sigh. "It would take many days to tell them all," he said. "All of them lost and drowned beneath the Sea."

"Where will you go now?" Elurín asked.

"East, perhaps. South, perhaps. Wherever there are trees. The Entwives, _hoom_ , are going east, to find open spaces for planting." Fangorn peered down at them, sunlight glinting in his eyes like on pools of deep water. "And where are you going, young Elves?"

"East," Eluréd said. "To see what there is to see. They say the mountains beyond Eriador are so tall they put the Ered Luin to shame."

"East," Fangorn repeated thoughtfully. " _Hoom_ , yes, I think I might go east, too. Following the forests, perhaps."

"Would you like company?" Elurín asked.

Fangorn would—but he intended to stay some time in the river valley; many of the Ents and Entwives would stay a while. It was a good place for Entings, Fangorn said, and of course no Ent was hasty enough to depart in the days immediately following an Entmoot. Especially an Entmoot as melancholy as this last one. Since Eluréd and Elurín were, at least in Fangorn's opinion, incredibly hasty, they lingered only another day before setting off. Fangorn bid them farewell, shaking his head fondly—like a parent at a child's silly antics.

A few days' walk brought them unexpectedly to a small patchwork of farms, surrounding a tiny village atop a hill. The Men living there were a ragtag group, made of folk who had, apparently, lived in the area for generations, and newcomers who had fled the War of Wrath and sinking of Beleriand. Their language, Eluréd thought, sounded Hadorian. So they were Edain, or descended from Edain, who had left Beleriand before the Valar raised the Star Isle. But not all of them were fair as the people of Hador—many looked more like the folk of Bëor. "They could be distant kin," Elurín remarked.

"Very distant," Eluréd replied. "Do you suppose they speak Sindarin?"

"I doubt it."

"Pity."

"Do you want to stay a while, learn the language?"

"Perhaps when we come back this way. I still want to see those mountains." The smell of baking bread wafted to them from the hill, and Eluréd glanced at Elurín. "…But I bet we could manage a trade with them. Fresh game for fresh bread?"

Several hours later, a wild turkey and a pair of rabbits earned them several loaves of fresh bread and some fresh vegetables—and wide-eyed stares from children. Even some boys wrestling in the mud stopped to gape at the pair of strange Elven hunters who appeared out of the forest without warning. Eluréd grinned at them; one of the boys grinned back, before they all scattered.

After that small village, though, they met no Men, and only the occasional Elf—usually hunters, once a family group. Almost all of them were Avari, though they met a few Laegrim—distant kin to Denethor's people that crossed into Beleriand during the years of twilight. Speaking with them was easier, since although their languages had grown differently across the years, like branches of a tree, the roots were the same.

According to a pair of silver-haired hunters, there were three ways to cross what they called the Misty Mountains—a pass in the north, that led down to a forest where many Teleri dwelled, another pass farther south just near the great Dwarf city of Khazad-dûm, which also led to a forest where Teleri dwelled—where these two hunters hailed from—or farther south yet, where the mountains parted in a wide gap.

"Which is closest to where we stand?" Elurín asked. Where they stood was on the bank of a river, the first major waterway they'd encountered after leaving the village on the hilltop.

"The northern pass," said the huntress, pointing. "But I would take the pass near Khazad-dûm if I were you. It is easier to find, with the dwarven roads around there, and all."

"We'll explore all the passes, eventually," Elurín said. "Thank you for the advice."

As they parted from the hunters, Eluréd said, "Did I tell you about the dream I had, when I was caught under the landslide?"

"No." Elurín glanced at him. "What was it?"

"Well—it was a strange series of images, like I was seeing them through a well of clear water." Eluréd frowned as he stepped over a gnarled root. "There were mountains—I think the Misty Mountains, but I suppose that will become clear soon enough. And there was a valley, somewhere in the foothills—the most beautiful valley, Elurín, nearly impossible to get to, over deep ravines, but filled with music of waterfalls."

"That's it? Just a valley?"

"If we can find it, Elurín, you'll understand." Eluréd raised his eyes to the sky, watching a flock of birds pass over. "There was another vision. A woman, with sad eyes, in a tower by the Sea. I don't know who she is, but she seemed familiar."

"Well, when we finally go back east, we'll look for towers with sad women in them," Elurín said. "Elbereth preserve us, brother, you never told me you were gifted with foresight."

"I didn't know I was," Eluréd said. "It was only that one dream."

"Well, next time you have a dream like that, tell me sooner," Elurín said.

"I would have, only I was a bit distracted." What with Eönwë himself appearing to inform them that they had to choose which kindred they wished to be counted among, along with news of what was happening beyond the Ered Luin—including news of their sister. Eluréd wondered, suddenly, if the woman in his dream was Elwing. When last they'd seen her she'd been a baby, and it was almost impossible to imagine her as an adult without picturing their mother instead—which was just ridiculous, since none of Nimloth's children took after her in looks, really.

If the vision _did_ show Elwing, though, they'd never know until they came to Valinor.

They camped in a stretch of pine forest, making their beds on crackling needles, their fire crackling merrily. Eluréd caught another rabbit, and with some herbs Elurín discovered, they made a stew, using also some of the vegetables the village woman had given them.

But after dinner, as twilight faded into night, Elurín sat up, tilting his head slightly as though straining to hear something in the distance. "What is it?" Eluréd asked. He did not move from where he lounged against a tree, though his fingers twitched to rest on his knife.

"I'm not sure," Elurín said slowly. "But it's too quiet. Even the trees have ceased their whispering." Eluréd cocked his own head. Beyond the occasional crackle from their campfire, Elurín was right—not even a tree frog could be heard. It sent a chill down Eluréd's spine.

Movement out of the corner of his eye sent Eluréd rolling out of the way in the nick of time, singeing his hair in the process. Elurín shouted something and dove _at_ the thing, knife flashing red in the firelight. The creature screeched—a high pitched, terrible sound like broken glass on stone—but whether by hunger or some invisible hurt it did not have the strength to win a real fight. By the time Eluréd sat up, Elurín had the thing pinned, and knelt on its chest. The creature itself was terrible and strange—like a bat, but nearly as big as Elurín, and with almost _elven_ features on its face. It spat ugly words in an unfamiliar language at Elurín, who scowled down at it. Dark blood leaked from a wound in its shoulder, and Elurín's knife, now poised at its throat, was stained.

"What _is_ it?" Eluréd asked after a moment, when the creature had quieted. "It's not an orc, is it?" They'd never actually _seen_ an orc; Nellas had been very good at avoiding them when traveling from Doriath to the Ered Luin, and if any had ever wandered into Iarwain's forest—well, he'd probably _hey merry dol'_ d them to death. But they'd heard plenty of stories, and Eluréd was _fairly_ certain orcs didn't actually have fur.

Elurín rolled his eyes. "Orcs don't have _wings_ , you idiot."

"Oh. A balrog, then?" Someone had mentioned wings in conjunction with balrogs, once, Eluréd was sure. Only he'd expected a balrog to be bigger.

"Of course it's not a _balrog_. I think it's a vampire. Seeing as it's a giant _bat_."

"What, like Thuringwethil?" At the sound of Thuringwethil's name the creature started snarling again. "Oh, I suppose so." Eluréd drew his own knife, just in case. "So what do we do now?"

"I don't know." Elurín scowled down at the creature. "We should probably kill it, but I don't like the thought of killing it when it's helpless."

" _I_ don't like the thought of being eaten," Eluréd replied. He got to his feet and started getting their things together. "If you can't kill the thing, tie it up and leave it. We'll find somewhere more sheltered to camp—"

The vampire started laughing, a sound that set Eluréd's teeth on edge. "You don't get far, elflings," it cackled. "Other things haunt the dark places, worse than Daedheleth."

"Daedheleth?" Elurín repeated. "Is that your name?"

"I don't think you're that horrifying," Eluréd remarked, which made the vampire hiss at him, barring very white, very sharp teeth.

"What else is out there?" Elurín demanded, pressing his knife against Daedheleth's throat. She just snarled at him. "Tell—"

Eluréd straightened as lumbering footsteps reached his ears, along with a low guttural voice grumbling in a language that sounded faintly mannish, but coarser. And it was coming toward them. Eluréd curse and kicked dirt over the fire, before grabbing up this things and pulling Elurín into the tree branches with him. Cackling, Daedheleth scurried away into the deepening tree-shadows, apparently content to leave them to the troll's mercy.

Or trolls, plural. As Eluréd and Elurín climbed, Eluréd looked down to see not one, but three come to peer at the remnants of their fire, and the blankets he had not been able to grab—and their stew pot, which still had some food left at the bottom. This was the focus of the trolls' attention, and it wasn't long before they were beating on each other and grabbing it back and forth, apparently arguing over who should get the food.

"They'll spill it all out before anyone gets a mouthful," Elurín whispered. Eluréd pressed a hand over his mouth, which Elurín just licked. Eluréd immediately yanked his hand away, trying to keep his spluttering as silent as possible. Trolls were, according to everyone they'd spoken to, quite dumb, but still dangerous. Without the Enemy to direct them, Eluréd thought it would be easy enough to get away, so long as the trolls didn't notice them and decide they'd rather have Elves for dinner than a few drops of rabbit stew.

Eventually the argument died down, and the stew pot was tossed away into the darkness. One of the trolls poked at the fire enough to revive it, and Eluréd swallowed a sigh when he realized they'd decided to stay a while _there_.

"They must have a hole somewhere," Elurín whispered. "They'll have to go back before the sun rises."

Eluréd glanced at him. "Unless something keeps them from it," he whispered back. "And when the sun rises they'll turn to stone."

"Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

The plan wasn't complicated. They just had to wait most of the night, and then do something to distract the trolls long enough that they couldn't get underground before sunup. The only problem Eluréd could see was the fact that a vampire still lurked in the shadows, no doubt waiting eagerly for them to let down their guard for even a moment.

The night seemed to stretch on forever, until finally Elurín poked Eluréd in the shoulder. As the trolls grumbled at each other beneath them, they gathered pine cones, and Elurín rose carefully to jump to another tree, until he was opposite Eluréd. The soft hoot of a screech owl told Eluréd when he was in position, and after a count to ten, he tossed the first pine cone onto the troll's heads. Elurín threw his with much more force, which jerked one of the trolls into action. It lumbered to its feet, snarling something in its clumsy language. Eluréd threw a pine cone at one of the others, who turned to its companion with a punch to the face. Eluréd swallowed a laugh, and climbed higher, as the third troll fell back against the tree trunk, shaking pine cones loose on his own to rain down on them. Pine needles, too, that got caught in the trolls' eyes and made them bellow in rage.

Then the trunk started to crack, and an alarming shiver went through the limbs. Eluréd slid down and jumped to the ground, just outside of the trolls' circle. "Hey!" he yelled. "Over here!" He waved his arms and shouted again, until the trolls stopped beating on each other and turned to him.

"Eluréd, what are you _doing?_ " Elurín demanded as Eluréd ran beneath his tree. "You _idiot_ —"

The trolls were quicker than Eluréd had expected—but he was smaller and more nimble, darting between trees and jumping over logs that tripped them up. They cursed him in their tongue, and one came very close to snatching him up. But the shadows were starting to brighten, and soon the sun would appear over the horizon, and when that happened…

An arrow stuck in one of the trolls' shoulders. It skidded to a stop with a bellow, but the other two continued chasing Eluréd. He made a sharp turn around a handful of boulders, and one of the trolls ran into them face-first.

The last one crashed to the ground, cut off mid-bellow, and its newly-stone body cracked, arms breaking off with the impact. Eluréd skidded to a stop on the leaves, and turned around. The sun was up, now, and all three trolls were turned to stone, one sprawled on the ground, one leaning against the other boulders, and the third trying to reach the arrow still sticking out of it.

Elurín dropped to the ground. "I've lost a good arrow, now, thanks to you," he said. "What was all that about? If they'd caught you—"

"They were going to break that tree down," Eluréd said.

"They were going to—Elbereth _Gilthoniel_ , Eluréd, better the tree than _you!_ "

"Well, they got neither," Eluréd pointed out. "And it's daylight now, so I doubt we have to worry about the vampire."

Elurín closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We are _never_ telling Nellas about this. She'd strangle us both. Agreed?"

"Agreed. Now let's go back, that was the best cook pot we've had in years." Eluréd patted the nearest troll as they passed. "At least this journey isn't boring," he added after a few minutes. Elurín didn't respond except to smack him upside the head.


	2. Chapter 2

They wandered a bit farther south than originally intended, and came to the point where the two rivers between them and the mountains converged. "Do these rivers even have names, yet?" Eluréd wondered as they watched the waters mingle together. Snow melt meant both of them were swollen and muddier than they would be later in the year; he watched a startlingly large piece of tree float by, brown leaves still clinging wetly to one of the branches.

"Of course they have names," Elurín said. "Probably a dozen each, at least. I suppose it depends on how many wandering tribes pass through here very often." He paused. "But those hunters we met didn't mention any." He peered downstream, southward, with a thoughtful look on his face. "We could follow this river all the way down to the Sea," he said.

"We'll have time for that later," Eluréd said. "Let's find a place to cross and then head back upstream."

"Along which fork?"

"The easternmost one, of course. We're going to the _mountains_ , Elurín."

Elurín rolled his eyes. "If I'd known there was a singular purpose to this journey, I might have just stayed with Goldberry," he said. "Are we going to spend the rest of our lives chasing your dreams? It was probably only the result of something hitting your head…"

"You can return to the Withywindle if you like," Eluréd said.

"What, and leave you by yourself? You'd get yourself eaten within a week."

For that, Eluréd pushed him into the water. Elurín came up sputtering and cursing. He lunged, but only succeeded in falling back into the water when Eluréd leaped out of the way. "Forget getting eaten, I'm going to _drown_ you, you son of a—"

"Careful," Eluréd called as he jumped up on some rocks. "Insulting my parentage insults yours!" He sat down cross-legged as Elurín dragged himself out of the water, looking like a half-drowned rat. He squeezed water out of his braids, and sat on the grass to pull off his sodden boots, grumbling all the while. Eluréd laughed at him a little more, but there was only so much grumbling he could stand, so after a few minutes he let his attention wander—while still staying alert for any retaliation on Elurín's part.

That was how he noticed the trio standing across the river, watching them. They were Elves, and hunters, judging by their dress, and the great bows they carried. Eluréd started to wave, but Elurín chose that moment to try to drag him off the boulders into the water, and he ended up falling down the other side. As he picked himself up, shaking leaves out of his hair, he heard bright laughter from across the water. Elurín muttered a few choice curses. When Eluréd peered around the boulders, he found his brother now covered in mud and leaves, twice as dirty as he would have been had he not been soaking wet.

"You'll pay for that," Elurín informed him.

"We'll camp here," Eluréd said. "I'll go find firewood. You get out of those clothes." He left Elurín spluttering about the people on the opposite bank, as though he couldn't just duck behind the rocks or a tree, and wandered back into the forest to find firewood. There was no shortage of deadwood, and he carried back three armfuls before Elurín finished changing and set about actually building the fire. "Do you have your fishing line?" Eluréd asked.

"In my pack somewhere," Elurín replied. "Don't you have yours?"

"I think Nellas borrowed it and forgot to give it back." Eluréd dug the line out of Elurín's pack and found a hook. If he was lucky, they'd have fish for dinner.

As he cast the line into the river, he scanned the opposite bank for the trio of hungers he'd seen earlier. He found them in a few minutes, as one of them shot an arrow into a tree on his side. There was a rope tied to it, and in moments they had a bridge ready for crossing. Nellas had done that before, across the Withywindle, but Eluréd had never seen it attempted across such a wide expanse. But it was no trouble for the hunters—they ran smoothly across it, and made their way up the shore to where Eluréd stood tugging on his fishing line.

"Well met, friends," he said carefully. The Silvan tongue was not _terribly_ divorced from Sindarin, but some of the Avarin dialects were more tricky.

"Well met," said the woman cheerfully. She tossed a silver braid over her shoulder. "I am Fernith, and this is my brother Cullas, and our cousin Esgarion. We saw you come up from the West, and thought you might have news to share."

"We might," Eluréd said, "though you might have already heard it."

"Some of the stories are so fantastic, we don't know what do believe," said Esgarion.

A fish caught on the line, and with a swift jerk Eluréd pulled it out of the river. "You are welcome to join my brother and me," he said. "I am Eluréd, and my brother is Elurín—though he isn't perhaps, the best company at the moment."

"Why _did_ you push him into the river?" Fernith asked. She picked up a rock to club the fish as Eluréd caught them; her brother and cousin headed over to the campfire, where Elurín was getting out a cooking pan and some of the herbs they'd collected.

"Because he deserved it," Eluréd replied. "Where do you hail from?"

"Oh, we came up over the mountains from the Silverlode valley," Fernith said. "There's a pass there that goes over Khazad-dûm."

"Oh, so we heard," Eluréd said.

"Is that where you're headed? We only came this way looking for news. It would be no hardship to guide you."

Eluréd shook his head, and jerked another silver fish out of the water. It flopped onto the stones at their feet until Fernith struck it expertly with her stone. "This is farther south than we intended to go," he said. "We were making for the pass farther north."

"Ah, the one leading toward the Greenwood. Well, if it's the Greenwood you're looking for, you can get there easily enough over the Dimrill Stair. The High Pass can be dangerous."

"We wanted to see this side of the mountains before crossing over," Eluréd said. "What news were you looking for? We've just come from the Ered Luin."

Fernith's eyes lit up. "Really? Then is it true that all the lands beyond were broken when the Powers came? I can't help but think that tale has grown in the telling—most tales do, by the time they come to us, they've passed through so many mouths."

"Well, that one hasn't," Eluréd said. "Perhaps because there's no room for it _to_ grow. But it's true, Beleriand is no more, except a small part of Ossiriand. Most Elves who didn't sail West after the War have settled there, under Gil-galad's rule."

"And who is Gil-galad? Is he one of the Exiles?"

"The son of one of them. Hey, Elurín!"

Elurín glanced up from the fire. "What?"

"Is Gil-galad the son of Orodreth or…Fingolfin?"

"I thought his father was Fingon?"

"Oh. Really?"

"I don't know. Does it matter? Either way he's a Noldo, and no concern of ours."

That was true enough, though that might change in the future, considering their nephew was Gil-galad's herald, but Eluréd thought it would be best to spare their new friends that particular web of complications. They wanted to know next about Gil-Estel, whether it was one of the Maker's gems put in the sky by the Starkindler, or a ship, or something else entirely, and whether the Valar had indeed put it there. Yes, the Valar had put it there, and it was both a gem and a ship, but more than that Elurín flat out refused to say. "It's a long and bloody tale," he said when Cullas pressed him, "and not one I will tell."

"Why not?" Fernith asked. "If it's only a jewel—"

Both Eluréd and Elurín laughed at that. Eluréd felt bitter about very few things—but the Silmaril was definitely one of them. They were old enough to remember that awful night in Doriath—the blood and the fire, the ruined tapestries that had been woven by Melian's own hands, their mother falling with a choked off cry as she tried to shield them. The soldiers who had taken them out into the forest and left them to freeze and starve, once it was clear they would not or could not tell them where to find the Silmaril. It was all very well to toss it into the sky and call it Gil-Estel, but that did not erase the blood that stained it, in their eyes.

The hunters raised their eyebrows and exchanged glances. "All right, we'll find someone else to tell that tale," Esgarion said.

"What about you?" Cullas asked as Elurín flipped the fish over in the frying pan. "You said you came from the Ered Luin. Did you live West of them before?"

"No," Elurín said before Eluréd could reply.

"Oh." Cullas looked disappointed, but only for a moment, because Elurín announced the fish were done, and there was little talk after that, as they all ate with relish. By then it was getting late, and Elurín left them to clean his muddy clothes more thoroughly, while the hunters told Eluréd more about their journeys. There were orcs in the mountains, they said—there had always been orcs in the mountains—but they were scared, now, and more disorganized than ever since the great earthshaking, and many had fled even farther east, or into the north.

"You have to worry more about the stone giants that sometimes show themselves," Esgarion said. "They like to throw stones—I don't know if it's a game for them, but it happens most often during storms."

"I wouldn't want to cross mountains during a storm anyway," Eluréd said.

"They can come up quite suddenly suddenly," Fernith said.

"Eluréd!" Elurín came running back to the campfire. "I think that vampire thing is still following us."

"I told you you should have killed it straight off," Eluréd said. He grabbed his bow, as the hunters scrambled for their own weapons. "Where is it?"

"I don't know. I saw movement in the trees, but I don't think it will try anything until dark."

"It will be dark very soon," Cullas said. "…You've really been traveling with a monster tailing you?"

"Well, we haven't actually _seen_ it since the first night," Eluréd said.

"Why didn't you kill it _then?_ " Cullas asked. Esgarion looked dumbfounded; Fernith looked more like she was trying not to laugh.

"Because our camp was invaded by trolls."

"Ai, Starkindler," Fernith finally laughed out loud. "Next you'll tell us a horde of orcs has been following you, too!"

"No, but we might have woken a dragon the other day."

There was a pause while the hunters stared at Eluréd. He kept a straight face, but Elurín's snort gave the joke away after less than a minute. Fernith dissolved into giggles, but Esgarion frowned. "That's not funny."

Just then the vampire descended on them with an ear-splitting screech, dropping from directly overhead. Fernith screamed, and Eluréd once again came close to burning his face off as he dove out of the way. Bowstrings sang, but the arrows flew off into the darkness, missing the vampire entirely. Eluréd yanked out his knife and rolled onto his back just in time for the vampire to leap on top of him, teeth flashing, hot saliva dripping onto his face. His knife went flying.

Then those teeth sank deep into his shoulder. Eluréd kicked at the vampire, but his arms were pinned, and there wasn't anything he could do while she tore at his flesh, hissing with delight at the taste of his blood.

"Eluréd!" Elurín slammed into the vampire from the side, tearing her off Eluréd, and taking a chunk of his flesh with them. The vampire hissed and cursed at them. Eluréd rolled the other way, trying not to scream. Someone grabbed his good arm and pressed something soft against his shoulder.

"Hold still!" It was one of the hunters.

"Elurín—"

"He's fine, but you won't be if you don't stop squirming!"

After a few minutes the chaos died down, and Elurín returned to Eluréd's side, cursing. "It's gone," he said. "Eluréd—"

"Next time it's _your_ turn," Eluréd said through gritted teeth. Esgarion helped him sit up so Elurín could peel back the shirt someone had pressed against his shoulder. It was Elurín's shirt—the one he'd been wearing when he fell into the river. Blood flowed freely from the deep wound in his shoulder—but even he could tell it was only a flesh wound—there would be no permanent damage, though he'd probably bear an impressive scar the rest of his days.

Elurín snorted as he poured water over the bite wound. "Then how would people tell us apart?" he retorted. "Hold _still_ , Eluréd. Cullas, can you stoke the fire? I need the light. Fernith, there's a kit in my pack—thank you." Elurín pulled out a needle and thread, and chanted the healing songs Nellas and Goldberry had taught them as children, to stem the flow of blood and encourage the flesh to knit back together, pain to ease, and strength to return. It was probably working—it had always worked before—but it wasn't working fast enough for Eluréd's liking.

But finally his shoulder was sewn together, Elurín's hands never wavering even though his voice caught more than once, and bandaged soundly by Cullas, while Elurín washed his hands. "I can't believe you let it get away again," Eluréd said finally. "Why didn't you just shoot the damned thing?"

"It was too fast," Elurín shot back. "And I was _slightly_ distracted by you _bleeding_ all over our things—"

"I wouldn't have _been_ bleeding all over our things if you had killed the stupid vampire in the first—"

"How did you two _ever_ reach adulthood?" Cullas asked after a few more minutes of bickering, when Eluréd had to stop to catch his breath.

"Nellas," they chorused.

"Nellas deserves songs sung about her," Esgarion muttered. Elurín snorted.

"We tried once," Eluréd said as he tried to get comfortable on the ground; it was going to be a long night. "She's still not done laughing at us."

The vampire did not return that night, and after a few days of rest for Eluréd, they parted ways with the hunters, who headed back south and east to the pass that would take them to their home. "Good luck," Fernith said before running back across the rope bridge. "I hope you survive long enough to visit us in Lórinand!"

"I hope so, too," Elurín said. "May the stars light your path!"

"And yours!"

"They're probably glad to be rid of us," Eluréd remarked after the hunters vanished from sight. "Keep your bow handy, won't you? I can't do anything with this shoulder."

"As long as it doesn't get infected—which it won't, because I cleaned it myself—it should heal swiftly," Elurín said. Then, "Do you think we could set a trap for the vampire?"

"I don't know." Eluréd rubbed at his shoulder. "But I am _not_ going to be bait."

In the end they didn't try setting any traps, and the vampire did not make an appearance. It had slunk off into the mountains, perhaps, into some dark tunnel where things of that sort dwelled. Eluréd and Elurín made their way leisurely upriver, staying close to the water for the most part, as the mountains loomed up on their left, so much taller than any mountains they'd ever seen. They caught only brief glimpses of the far-off peaks; more often than not they were wreathed in pale mists and clouds that spilled down often even into the foothills. Hence, of course, the _Misty_ Mountains. They seemed much closer than they really were, though the river course turned eastward the farther north they went.

"When Nellas asks about this," Elurín said one afternoon as he checked Eluréd's shoulder, "we're going to tell her it was a single incident, and that Daedheleth most certainly did _not_ follow us almost the whole way from the Withywindle to the Hithaeglir."

"Of course."

"And we won't mention the trolls at all."

"We already agreed on that."

"Well, as long as we both remember." Elurín carefully wound the bandages back around. "It's healing well. Tonight I'll sing over it again."

They continued leisurely even after Eluréd's shoulder healed enough that he could move it again, even though he could not yet wield his bow or do more with his knife than skin and gut the game Elurín caught. They were peaceful days, and filled with new discoveries and interesting things to see, though they met no other travelers, and nothing more dangerous than a mother bear passing by with her cubs. Occasionally familiar birds found them, bringing news from the Withywindle valley—Nellas had returned from Lindon, one nightingale told them, to dwell a while with Goldberry by her lily pool. And the cities by the shore were coming along, reported another, and it would not be long before the Elven folk started venturing eastward in earnest.

Eventually they came to a place that felt familiar to Eluréd. "We should turn up this way," he said, gesturing toward the hills. Elurín looked at them, then at Eluréd, raising his eyebrows. "What? I want to see what's up in those hills."

"Presumably your dream valley," Elurín said, but followed Elurín as they left the river and wound their way up the hills. The way was steep, and trackless, so often Elurín had to help steady Eluréd. "I don't suppose you dreamed _why_ finding this place is so important."

"It might not be important at all," Eluréd said cheerfully. "But it's beautiful—you'll see, it'll be worth it."

"I hope so."

The valley came up on them suddenly, when they came to a steep drop that Elurín nearly fell over, before Eluréd grabbed him. Far below them, the valley opened up. Flowing water echoed over the hills, hundreds of falls tumbling over cliffs and slopes to join together in a small river flowing through the tree-filled valley. The smell of flowers was in the air, and the sharp scent of pine. Nightingales were singing merrily.

"Oh," Elurín murmured. "Is this the valley you saw in your dream, Eluréd?"

"Yes." Eluréd sat down, dangling his legs over the cliff. Evening was setting in, and the smell of pine floating up from the valley made him feel pleasantly drowsy. "We need to find a way down, I think," he said.

"Yes," Elurín agreed immediately. "It's going to be important someday." He sat down beside Eluréd. "It would be nice to know how, though," he added thoughtfully. "And when."

"Foresight doesn't really work like that," Eluréd said.

Elurín rolled his eyes. "I know that. But it would be nice."

"Mm." Eluréd swung his legs a little. Below them the river was flowing, and above them the stars were burning, and the mountains standing as tall sentinels. The moon would be rising, soon. After a little while Elurín raised his voice in song, a hymn to Elbereth that had once been sung in Doriath, in the days before the sun and moon. As he did, Gil-Estel rose, glinting. What did the world look like from up there, Eluréd wondered? How small even the Misty Mountains must seem. He did not envy Eärendil his sky-sailing—he liked his mountains towering and his forests vast.

In the morning they would find a way down into the valley; perhaps they would spend the rest of the summer there, and the winter, and return to with Withywindle valley when spring came again. Or perhaps they would venture even farther east, to the Greenwood and to Lórinand. There was a mighty river east of the mountains, supposedly. Perhaps they would follow it down to the sea. Eluréd grinned. The whole world lay before their feet, and in this new Age of the world there was nothing to stop them from exploring every nook and cranny.


End file.
